CYRANO DE BERGERAC
by vanhunks
Summary: m/f. Someone on Voyager is writing beautiful poetry for other people. Who can it be? Who,indeed? A Lower Decks story with two brand new characters created by the author.


**CYRANO DE BERGERAC**

or **HOW MATHIAS GOT HIS SYMMETRY **[Rating: PG]

**Summary**: **Who is writing poetry for other people on Voyager**? [Based somewhat on the film Cyrano de Bergerac in which Gerard Depardieu played the tormented Cyrano].

**Disclaimer**: Paramount owns Voyager, Janeway and Chakotay. I created two new characters for Lower Decks.

Note: Written for the VAMB 2010 Secret Drabble & Ficlet Exchange

Thanks to Mary S for the betareading of this story.

**CYRANO DE BERGERAC**

It was not quite 2100 but the room was already dark.

Dark enough, Lieutenant Mathias Merryweather Peerbaum thought, to hide a multitude of sins. Not that he was a sinner in the strictest biblical sense. But if one's physical appearance could be defined as not quite symmetrical, with the best of his Vulcan heritage situated in his ears, his straight short bangs and even, flat lips a legacy of his Romulan heritage, and his nose, human, then he sinned.

For his nose was out of joint. Literally. Sideways, asymmetrical, a long snout through which he could sip Romulan ale.

He had to concede, reluctantly, that twenty fourth century humans in particular were not prejudiced against physical appearances of alien races. However, as bipedal species went, they had something he had not - symmetry. A Bolian was blue, but his features were symmetrical. So were those of the Andorians, Sirkarians, Cardassians, Bajorans, Ktarians, Ferengi, Hirogen, even the Kazon.

Good thing it was dark. Who would want to see old pickle-nosed Mathias Peerbaum in the bright light of day anyway?

Who, indeed?

And then there was Ensign de Malmanche who'd been his friend since long before their Academy days.

Ensign Roxanne Clementine de Malmanche - human, nose in the right place, dark auburn hair, liquid gold eyes, naturally red lips, everything symmetrical. In short, beautiful…and a spitfire.

Commander Chakotay had spoken with him two days ago.

"You're in love with the girl and you write poetry in the name of that weasel Coriander Bateman? He of the handsome face and nothing else?"

"I cannot reveal my feelings for her, Commander. She'd laugh straight in my nose - "

"Your nose be damned. Tell her the truth about Bateman."

The esteemed Commander, married to Captain Janeway, having proposed on his knees with a poem Mathias wrote, looked at him impatiently, as if to say, 'Peerbaum, what the hell is wrong with you?'

"I cannot, Commander. Roxanne loves beautiful poetry, but a pretty face more…"

"Before we reach the next system, Peerbaum, you'd better be on your knees before that woman or by God, I'll have Seven of Nine eject you out an airlock!"

He'd been more afraid of the Commander's thunderous expression than of the Borg lady turning him into a popsicle. Especially since he himself had written the poetic lines for the Commander to woo the Captain.

"But, Commander, my poem…the Captain still thinks you wrote it…"

Chakotay had grabbed his jacket front in a vice grip and thundered, "By God, Peerbaum, if you tell the Captain, I'll pluck your nose from your face!"

He had been about to say that would be a good thing so he could get symmetry for once, when the Commander yanked him closer and spat, "On second thought, I'll just pull it further out of joint. You hear me?"

"Aye, Commander," was all he could mutter before the first officer let him go so suddenly that he keeled over and landed on his hiney. Just at that moment the weasel Coriander Bateman and _she_ walked past in the corridor, with Bateman not daring to snicker while Roxann laughed outright.

He could endure Roxanne's laughter. It was never mean, and she must have remembered how, when they were neighbours and their parents Starfleet officers, she'd pushed him and he'd fallen flat on his…face. He could take anything from her, even losing to her team in Parrisses Squares when they had their monthly departmental tournaments. She was on Harry Kim's team; who could win against a former Starfleet champion?

Mathias patted his uniform jacket, felt the envelop still there. Giving a great big sigh, he stepped forward into Roxanne de Malmanche's quarters. She'd given him her codes, 'Just in case of emergency'. This was an emergency. He was under pain of death to deliver it to her or else Coriander Bateman would engage him in a duel of swords and he was no good with a sword. What was he going to tell his everlasting love? Coriander had finally been struck by an attack of conscience? Roxanne wasn't going to believe him if he told her Coriander felt bad that somebody else was using lovely words to woo her, that the creator of beautiful words should be on the receiving end of Roxanne's everlasting love. .

He called out her name. "Roxanne? Why are you encased in darkness?" he asked in poetic fervour.

There was no answer, so he stepped further into her domain. He'd been here many times before. They'd been neighbours and academy cadets, although he was a full three years ahead of her. From her alone he could take the teasing of his tripartite ancestry.

He walked through to her bedroom. His eyes popped. She was lying on top of the covers, dressed in her uniform. It was almost 2100 hours and she was due at her post in half an hour.

"Roxanne? Whatever is the matter?" he asked as he rushed to her bedside. He touched her pretty forehead with the back of his hand. She was feverish, her long hair fallen over her cheek; she was in tears and her nose was running. He wanted to hail the EMH, but she stopped him.

"No, I'm not sick, Mathias."

"Then what's wrong?

Roxanne sat up and sniffed. "Tonight is the first night Coriander didn't bring a poem himself. He - he said he was going to give it to you to bring to me…"

"I have it here…"

"T-that is what's bothering me, Mathias. Why didn't he come himself? He always has. You know, lately he's been blowing a little cold. Can't think why. His poetry is so...breathtaking, so…classical. Not like the sploggerel we used to write as kids… You were so good with sploggerel. But Coriander… You know, Mathias, his words often make me think of the moon over a lake of blue waters. Like black ink and if you looked closer, the black isn't black but deep, dark blue."

How could he tell her he was the one who spiced up Coriander's words of love? How?

"Yes, Roxanne."

"Like that."

"Shall I kill him, Roxanne?"

"What? For writing poetry that makes my toes curl? He has a long sword, remember?"

_'No, he wanted to tell her. For breaking your heart. I can't stand for you to look so unhappy. Can't I make you happy?' _

"Well," he began, fishing the letter from his pocket. "Here's the envelop. I hope you like it."

"I am positive I won't," she said as she took the envelop. Then she hurled it across the floor. "I hate him right now, pretty face and all. I thought he loved me!"

"But he does love you, Roxanne!"

"Then you read the damned poem. I've had enough. Pity you can't write such beautiful words of love."

He wanted to tell he he had written the Commander's poem for the Captain when that angry warrior proposed to her.

It sounded beautiful, just as long as he, Mathias Merryweather Peerbaum kept his mouth shut and his nose out of trouble. What did it matter anyway? Roxanne never really saw him. Her "I love you" was purely because they were Best Friends Forever and she didn't mind his asymmetrical nose.

He picked up the envelop containing Coriander Bateman's poem. That weasel didn't deserve a beautiful woman like Roxanne Clementine de Malmanche with poetry someone else wrote for him. Mathias looked at the words he had written last night, his whole heart raw as he poured his love into it. Coriander did not appreciate a word of it. To him it was a passport to Roxanne's heart.

Mathias began to read…

_As clear the day that dawns and stars grace the cloudless skies,_

_so pure, so refined all that I feel,_

_for my heart, my life, my soul is there,_

_captured eternally in cosmic greatness_

_as every wandering ship, _

_unerringly sails home_

_so my heart wanders, _

_journeys over the expanse_

_of life and light _

_to meet with yours_

_for in the darkest of dark nights_

_your love is a flame, a beacon_

_guiding me to you_

_how can I not love you?_

_how can my heart not rise in joy?_

_or my soul not be encompassed by yours?_

So he read, hardly aware that Roxanne had risen from her bed, watching him, listening to every word. So awed was she that her eyes sprang with tears again. Her beautiful, red lips trembled, her hand rested against her bosom which heaved in rhythmic cadence with the cadences of the poem. It seemed she was going to swoon. Maybe she did swoon, because it felt she was balancing delicately on her shapely legs. Yet she did not. Her temporary loss of balance occurred when she bent down to pick up her ion mallet she used in Parrisses Squares.

Roxanne closed on him.

"Turn round, Mathias Merryweather Peerbaum and look me in the eye."

Mathias Merryweather Peerbaum thought Roxanne's voice was filled with madness. Yes, madness. He'd better turn or he'd be thwacked by something.

The paddle of the ion mallet hit him square in the face the moment he turned. He staggered backwards but maintained his balance.

"Roxanne! What the hell…?"

"You wrote those lines! All those poems from the Weasel Coriander were written by you!"

"I swear I'm innocent! I never wrote them. Only someone who could love you with such great passion could write those lines and I - "

"Don't love me?" Another **THWACK**!, so hard that he stumbled backwards this time. He covered his nose, felt the blood streaming from it, accompanied by excruciating pain. He refused to cry out. The moment he removed his hand to stare numbly at the blood on his hands, another **THWACK**! came and sent him reeling.

He lay on the floor, surprised when Roxanne climbed on top of him and grabbed his head so he couldn't move. God, she looked beautiful in her madness.

"That weasel of a spice called Coriander," she hissed, "was only spice as long as he craved my body."

"He had your body?"

"Those words that _you - _yes, _you_ wrote, Mathias Peerbaum, spoke to my senses, my body and my heart."

"Then I am sorry that he cooled off," Mathias said softly, groaning under the weight of the woman on top of him and the pain in his magnificent snout. He had been instructed by Spice Boy to tell Roxanne the truth because the one thing Spice Boy could not have despite the glorious poetry… Mathias sighed. He loved Roxanne…

"I am not sorry, not anymore, Mathias Peerbaum. Spice Boy Coriander couldn't ever read those fantastic lines the way you just read them."

"H-how?" Mathias asked.

"Like he pierced my very soul. You spoke to my soul, Mathias."

"I don't love you."

"Oh, yes, you do. No man could breathe lines of such cosmic wonder and not love. I love you, dummy."

"My nose - "

"Never mind your nose. Let's go see the EMH."

"Whatever for, Roxanne, my love, my life, my soul?"

"Why, so he can hit your snout sideways again. I hit it right to the middle!"

"Oh, no, you don't, Roxanne! I want symmetry!"

Then he heaved her off of him, lifted her up and carried her to her bed where he proceeded to show her how just how much he loved her soul.

Suddenly her commbadge beeped. Roxanne fumbled under Mathias's caressing hands and flat lips.

"Chakotay to Ensign de Malmanche!"

"D-de Malmanche here."

"Ensign De Malmanche, you are half an hour late for duty…"

"Commander," responded Mathias Merryweather Peerbaum, his voice full of pride, "Ensign de Malmanche is engaged."

"What? You finally got your girl?"

"Crooked nose and all."

END


End file.
